


Drunk on Touch

by teaspoonofdoom



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Canon Disabled Character, Ed being overwhelmed, Fluff, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, POV Edward Nygma, Resolved Romantic Tension, There is some neckplay? just so you know, and crushing on Oswald, and drunk, tagging is hard, takes place during 3a, they're drunk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-10
Updated: 2018-02-10
Packaged: 2019-03-16 06:48:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13630899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teaspoonofdoom/pseuds/teaspoonofdoom
Summary: He doubts he could harm Oswald even if he intended to. And he doesn't. Not with the other man's breath hitting the side of his face. He will do anything to keep the small and shallow puffs ever present there. They carry a sharp sourness of wine and while Ed's not practically interested in wine he finds he doesn't mind. Even enjoys it to a degree.Oswald does seem to have a problem with breathing but it's not Ed's fault. At least not his hands' fault.





	Drunk on Touch

**Author's Note:**

> Lame title, I know. This fic is basically 2k of Ed's thought process while intoxicated and in close proximity to Oswald, that I wrote in the middle of the night. Enjoy!

His hands are around Oswald's neck. There's a feeling of inevitability in that particular situation. A number of imaginary scenarios cross his mind. Most of them involve Miss Kringle's lifeless body and unblinking eyes.

Others show Oswald in her place. Only still alive. Pressed to the wall, dark hair messy, wearing a night robe, more angry than scared, trying to get out of Ed's grip, talking againts his palm, screaming.

Fighting, failing.

Ed manages to shake the images out of his head. He won't squeeze. He won't.

He doubts he could harm Oswald even if he intended to. And he doesn't. Not with the other man's breath hitting the side of his face. He will do anything to keep the small and shallow puffs ever present there. They carry a sharp sourness of wine and while Ed's not practically interested in wine he finds he doesn't mind. Even enjoys it to a degree.

Oswald does seem to have a problem with breathing but it's not Ed's fault. At least not his hands' fault.

It's a fascinating thought nevertheless: to make The Penguin pant without strangling him. The achievement would hold much more value if Ed himself wasn't finding it hard to breath.

He tastes the sourness on his lips, too. He knows taste is related to scent but he doubts that's the case. He might or might not have stomached a single wineglass only not to offend Oswald. Who on his end had drained no less than three.

This would be number one reason as to why they should stop this. Better sooner than later. Intoxication coudn't mix well with their already confusing (to Ed at least) relationship.

He can feel Oswald's pulse under his palms. The frantic rhythm of it does nothing to help with the dizzyness in his head. Neither does his skin. Warm. No, hot. Feverish where Ed's long fingers dig in it. But Oswald's hands are nothing of the sort. Tucked between Edward's vest and shirt. Cold fingertips mapping at Ed's back, his sides, daring once to reach at the front and brush against his hipbones.

Ed can't decide whether these touches are calming the storm inside him or setting him afire. He notices he's squeezing his eyes shut. His eyelashes are glued together. He opens them and tries to focus.

Once he looks down at Oswald, his fingers tremble. Oswald's eyes are either downcast or closed. (Ed can't tell. His glasses are kinda foggy.) His cheeks are bright red but it does nothing to hide his freckles. And Ed could never have guessed how many they are. But it's fine. Because he knows now. From this close he gets to see.

He sees the mascara on every eyelash. He sees the smugged trace of eyeliner. He sees the stands of hair sticking to Oswald's forehead. The drop of sweat running down his temple. The reddened tips of his ears. He sees everything.

He sees and feels. He feels it every time Oswald swallows. Every time he inhales and exhales. Every bop of his Adam's apple. Every time his chest widen with a new breath.

And sometimes he squeezes. Just a litte and just sometimes. Rests his hand on Oswald's neck but sometimes shifts them. Moves them so they touch at the back. And his thumbs press in and get to touch Oswald's windpipe throught his skin.

And Oswald just lets it happen. Takes it. Doesn't even open his eyes. They do flutter a couple of times when Ed tightens his grip a tad too much. Ed will fall asleep night after night with this image painted on the backs of his eyelids. Or twist in his covers untill the morning comes. After he relaxes his fingers, he caresses Oswald's neck. Wants to place a kiss on each of his eyelids. He doesn't.

Ed realizes Oswald has stopped moving his icy fingers. Now they are twisted in his shirt but too far away from his skin. And Ed doesn't like it like that. He wants them back. Wants their presence to haunt him for days. Wants to wonder if he could freeze and never leave this spot.

He dares to run his hands down Oswald's shoulders. Perhaps this will get his point across. Oswald's not wearing a jacket. They both discarded them halfway through Oswald's second glass. Ed felt like he should shug it off right after Oswald. Didn't seem fair for him to keep it on while Oswald was loosening his tie and rolling his sleeves up.

Oswald doesn't tense like Ed expected him to. He seems more concentrated on his breathing than on Ed's hand roaming over his shoulder blades.

He looks like he's sobering up. _Was he even tipsy in the first place?_ Ed feels like he is getting more and more drunk with every pasing second. Drunk on touch. Maybe he, too, should sober up. So he stops tracing his thumbs up and down Oswald's collarbones. A line forms between Oswald's brows but he says nothing.

Ed is mad. Mad he can't hold his alcohol. Mad at himself for allowing this to happen. Having his hands around his best friend's throat. And then going even further. Why did he let it happen?

Ed is trembling. He lifts his hands up from Oswald. Shakes his head. Hands hanging in the air between them. Tries to step away but Oswald's palms spread and take a hold of his waist.

"Ed." He says and lets go once Ed shivers more prominently. And just like that Ed is unable to back away any further. His hands are hanging in the air between them.

Oswald's eyes are more understanding than confused and Ed's mad at this, too, because _he_ is confused. As to why Oswald is okay with Edward possibly hurting him? Why does he like him up and close in his personal space when nearly everybody Ed knows has shown him how unwanted he is in there?

Also how are his eyes so green and so blue at the same time? And how come he decides just now to make eye contact. Ed feels it's somehow not fair. For Oswald to look up and paralyse him simple as that.

"Ed." He repeats and rises his hands next to Edward's but doesn't touch them. It's reassuring still. "It's fine."

And with that as if all of Ed's mind cogs start working again. Automatically. He doesn't have a say in it when his palms and Oswald's clasp and hang down to rest between their bodies.

It's not proper hand holding but it's better than staring at Oswald from afar. And two feet did feel like a whole lot of distance a moment ago. Hell, they still do. But, thank God, Oswald is coming closer.

He lets go of one of Ed's hands and lifts it to his face. Ed is nodding. He wants. Wants cold fingers and hot breath. Wants sweaty palms (maybe not sweat but hidden ice cubes under Oswald's nails that melt once he touches him) and scent of wine. Sharp and lingering.

Oswsld caresses his cheek. Ed takes a hold of his hand with both of his and presses. Presses another foot in closer. Presses untill the front of this shoes bumps into Oswald's. And then some more.

And his eyes are far too kind to look too long at. A wicked thing to see them like that. Like Ed hung the Moon and named it after him. Like Ed's the one to work miracles times and times again.

So he looks away. Away and down. And Oswald's lips are slightly parted and tugged at the corners. Not a full on smile. Ed dares to think that if it was it would reach Oswad's eyes and make them crinkle at the ends. Do the impossible and make them even more stunning.

"Oswad." He doesn't know how he finds his voice but there's a list of facts that are beyond him. He wants the feeling of Oswald pressed to him closer than ever out of this list. "Can I?"

"You are more than wellcome, friend." Oswald chuckles a bit. A sickly sweet sound it is. It makes Ed warm all over.

When Oswald frees his hand out of his hold and places it just under his elbow to tug him closer that drunk feeling comes back. Harder that beforehand.

His own hands come to grab at Oswald's forearms and he leans. He leans and Oswald stands on his tiptoes. And he leans some more and Oswald moves the hand on his face to the nape of his neck and tugs down once again.

And it's magic.

No, not magic. It's fate. And it's at risk of becoming Ed's favourite memory.

It's Olga's cookies in Arkham. It's lilies on Gertrud Kapelput's grave. It's Chinese take out and it's dinners in the mansion. It's piano duets sang off key and the murder of Mr Leonard. It's underground business and election day. It's Oslwad in his suits and in Ed's pyjamas. And it's Ed laying on the floor in The Sirens with Butch's hands around his neck and then with Oswald's on his face (as if that on itself isn't a fine example of what friends do and what they don't... But he won't think about that for a second).

Oswald's lips are soft. Soft and warm and pressing into Ed's. It's an unhurried press and pull and Ed loves it. Oswald's nose is smashed in his cheek and his glasses are in the way but he wouldn't have it any other way.

He is smiling so wide he thinks he breaks the kiss. Oswald remains in close and Ed is grateful. Leans his forehead on Oswald's and for a second wonders if he's leaning to much on him. Oswald seems content with Ed's proximity and weight on him. His eyes are closed, brows relaxed, cheeks still rosy. He's biting his bottom lip but not as if he's concealing his pain but like he's suspending a smile.

Ed looks down to see the position of his bad leg and then nesteles his own foot under it. Almost like they are about to slow dance and Oswald doesn't know the steps.

His hand is placed where Ed's shoulder meets his neck and the other is runnig up and down his forearm. To fit the dancing pose, Ed moves his own to Oswald's sides and the other man jumps a bit. Ed never striked his as a ticklish one. He moves his head, still downcast, to lay on Oswald's shoulder.

Oswald exhales half a laugh. Not proof of ticklishness, though. Ed shifts his head untill his chin touches Oswald's collar and he just breathes. Oswald's hand goes up his biceps one last time and then he diggs his nails in his shoulder with enough force for Ed to feel the press up to under his shirt and undershirt but not to sting.

Ed's palms move as to meet at the small of Oswald's back. He angles his head just a bit more and presses one, two, three kisses into the fevered skin on Oswald's neck.

Oswald's head immediately fall back to give him more access but Ed can't allow himself to focus on his neck to much. Can't take the risk. But he'd like some more kissing now.

He is not detaching his hands off of Oswald's waist. But his height comes in handy. He straightens untill he can reach Oswald's face and pecks his cheek.

Oswald bashfully lowers his head but Ed leans in to kiss him proper. He miscalculates and kisses the corner of his mouth. Pulls a millimeter away and licks his lips. Only the millimeter is passed without effort (really he didn't plan it like that) and he licks at Oswald's lips, too.

They part. _Like the Red sea_ comes to Ed's mind but he is not calling his tongue Moses. He realises he had chuckled when Oswald pulls away. Looking both angry and insulted. But Ed wasn't laughting at him.

"No, no." He wispers and closes his eyes, leaning in again in hopes to unruin the mood. He moves his hands up Oswald's back. Brings him some millimeters closer and while Oswald doesn't stear away he is looking anywhere but at _him_.

He must feel like the butt of a joke. A horrible feeling to experience, especially in such a situation. Ed had been on the receiving end. He has to show Oswald his laughter wasn't a mockery. He tries to explain and makes sure his voice convinces him. Only it comes out like that:

"Oswald, I want to kiss you."

Oswald finally meets his graze and a found look comes to his face. He huffs his breath differently. With a laugh in it. And Ed wants to say _'That's what I did, too!'_.

"Go on." Oswald says with triumph in his voice. He smirks and dare shines in his eyes.

He plants a lingering kiss right on Ed's lips. As if only to deprive him of the chance to do so himself. He pull away a moment later (just before Ed's tongue dares to claim the space behind his teeth) but Ed moves one of his hands higher untill it rests between his shoulder blades and the other lower to cup his waist. Tugs him closer like a dance still. The leaning move. Oswald squizes his shoulder.

Meets him in the middle.

Kisses him utterly stupid.


End file.
